


Hope in the Distance

by Isilarma



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Angst, Drama, Gen, Godric is a BAMF, Godric sees the best in people, Salazar doesn't trust anyone for good reason, Salazar is also a BAMF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-16
Updated: 2013-12-16
Packaged: 2018-01-04 20:17:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1085257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isilarma/pseuds/Isilarma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They destroyed Dark wizards, fought monsters, and helped found a school that would thrive for over a thousand years. They were as different as night and day, yet their friendship was one of the greatest the world has ever seen. Godric Gryffindor and Salazar Slytherin. This is the tale of how it all began.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hope in the Distance

**Author's Note:**

> Rated for mild swearing and mentions of torture and abuse.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, and am not affiliated with Bloomsbury or Scholastic Inc.

Choices. They are made every minute of every day. Sometimes they are as insignificant as deciding what to eat, a meaningless decision that is forgotten practically as soon as it is made.

Other choices can change everything. On this occasion, certain choices changed the course of history forever.

\---

"Boy! Get down here!"

Salazar was moving before the last syllable had even had time to fade; he knew all too well the consequences of keeping the Master waiting. He smelled the alcohol as he reached the door, and paused for a moment to school his face into its required mask. Taking a deep breath, he stepped inside.

"Yes, sir?"

The Master snorted. "Stand up straight, you little runt; it's not difficult." His lips curled into a sneer, revealing broken yellow teeth. "Or maybe it is for some of us."

Salazar continued to stare at him, refusing to allow the words to strike home. Showing weakness would earn a curse at the least, more likely something worse. He kept his mouth shut, and his emotions to himself. The Master gave a low growl.

"Too good to speak now, is that it? Or did you lose your tongue along with your courage?"

Still, Salazar stayed silent. It was nothing to what he had faced in the past, and speaking now would earn nothing but pain. One day it would be different. That would be a good day.

The Master spat on the floor and turned away. "Don't you have work to be doing?"

A retort danced on Salazar's lips, but he knew better. Instead he gave a slight bow. "Yes, sir."

"Then get out of my sight."

Salazar was careful not to roll his eyes until he reached the safety of the library. The Master's temper was bad at the best of times; after drinking, the slightest misdemeanour was incentive enough for a beating, or worse. He had learned that during his first week, and had taken care never to forget it. An attack would force him to defend himself, and he couldn't risk that just yet. No matter how tempting it might be to teach the old fool a lesson, Salazar knew there was still a great deal he could learn. If he had to deal with the bad temper, the rages and the beatings, then so be it. It was worth it.

Memories of a time when lessons did not inspire dread flashed briefly before his eyes, and he suddenly found his lungs refusing to work. Light, laughter, love. It had been so long...

With a hiss, Salazar forced the memories away. Those days were gone, taken, and they were never coming back. He had a new life now, one that would ensure that the past was never repeated. He would be strong, feared, safe.

But the heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach refused to abate. And though Salazar tried to bury himself in his work, and his magic, he knew that it never would.

It was worth it. It had to be.

\---

"So, you going to be staying long?"

Godric shook his head as he took a gulp of his beer. "Only a few days. There's someone I need to visit." It was technically a correct term for what he was going to do. His companion, a talkative, but not particularly bright man he had met in the taproom of the inn, leaned back to study him.

"Oh? And who would that be?"

"I don't know his name," Godric admitted. "I was just told that he lived in the old tower."

The man drew in a sharp breath. "Ah."

"You've heard of him then?"

There was a soft snort. "Be hard to find someone in this town who doesn't. What business do you have with him?"

Godric looked at him. As far as he can tell, and he prided himself on being a good judge of character, this man was completely harmless. However, there was no point in giving anything away needlessly.

"He owes me something."

"Well, good luck getting it back. If you want my advice, you'll leave now."

"Sorry," said Godric unapologetically. "But I really need to see him." He hesitated, but getting information would be worth the risk. "What can you tell me about him?"

The man glanced uneasily over one shoulder. "Look, just get away from here. You can't cross him; you'll end up dead." He pushed his chair back and stood up, only to pause as Godric caught his wrist.

"Stay."

"Sir-"

"I can stop him."

The man snorted. "Others have said the same."

"But I mean it." He was careful to keep any trace of doubt from his voice or eyes. "I can kill him."

The man hesitated, but after a moment he shook his head. "It's too dangerous."

"I have killed others like him," said Godric quietly. "Some many times more dangerous. Trust me; I can do this."

There was a long silence. Godric waited patiently; he knew he was asking a lot, but the information really would be useful. If only the man would trust him.

Fortunately, Godric tended to inspire trust. Slowly, the man nodded.

"He's vicious," he said. "Doesn't come out often, but when he does, the young know to run. Hex them as soon as look at them, he does."

Godric felt a dull burn of anger. "How strong is he?"

"'Fraid I don't know. No one's ever tried to fight him. No one stupid enough," he added under his breath.

Godric ignored the last part, busy turning the news over in his mind. So far, it didn't sound like there would be any problems, but better safe than sorry. "Does anyone else live with him?"

"One other. A boy. Must only be ten or eleven."

Godric raised an eyebrow. "That is very young."

"Yes," the man agreed. "Pity really."

Godric frowned. "What do you mean?"

The man shrugged. "Well, he's not a bad lad. Quiet, but always polite when he comes in. Looks half-starved most of the time to be honest. Can't be good for him, what with his leg and all."

"His leg?"

The man blew out a puff of smoke. "Aye, he's crippled. Said he broke it bad one time, and it never healed right." His eyes darkened. "Y'know, I've never seen him smile."

Godric stared at him. "Never?"

"What's he got to smile about? Can' be much fun living with that bastard."

Godric hummed his agreement, but he kept his own counsel. A Dark Arts master like this one wouldn't take a boy in out of the kindness of his heart. He must be a relative, or an apprentice. Either way, he was a threat Godric could not afford to discount.

Still, he could not suppress a brief flicker of sympathy. He didn't want to imagine what could inspire a child to undertake such an apprenticeship. From the sound of things, it was unlikely to have been by choice.

"Do you know if he's been trained?" Another opponent would complicate matters, but the man shook his head.

"I've seen him use magic, but he hasn't been here long. He can't have learned that much."

"And a cripple won't be that much of a threat anyway," Godric agreed. He set down his empty tankard and rose to his feet. "Well, thank you for the information."

"Pleasure. Try not to get yourself killed, all right?"

Godric smiled. "I will do my best."

Godric returned to his room without stopping to talk to anyone else. Dusk was already falling, and he wasn't stupid enough to attack a Dark Arts master in his own home at night. A good night's rest, and then he would see what he could do.

There shouldn't be any problems. One man, no matter how skilled, was nothing compared to the Order. Godric shivered. Now that had been a difficult battle. He readily admitted that he had been lucky, but the result had been worth it. And the experience would certainly be useful now.

Only one thing continued to trouble him. This boy that his new friend had mentioned. Godric had met other apprentices before, and had nothing but contempt for them. They were deliberately seeking the most horrific knowledge, and they always ran at the first sign of danger. They had no courage, and no honour, and those were the two things that Godric valued above all. No doubt this boy would be no different.

It was a pity. But Godric would do what had to be done.

\---

Salazar bit back a yelp with an effort. Three months of four hours sleep a night was not conducive to dodging surprise hexes. Seconds later his head was ringing from a vicious slap.

"Damn, you're pathetic."

It was all Salazar could do to keep from killing him on the spot, but he forced himself to answer calmly. "My apologies."

There was a snort. "And what am I supposed to do with those? Have you finished?"

"Would I have said I was if I hadn't?"

The Master's eyes narrowed. "Watch your tongue, boy. Any more cheek and I'll tear it out."

He would at that. Salazar dropped his eyes. "Everything is done." And he was so tired he could barely stand, but he was more than used to that by now.

The Master grunted in reply. "Then get down to the library and stay there."

Salazar dipped the lowest possible bow that would be acceptable, and disappeared before he could change his mind. And before he could do anything stupid.

The library was the only reason Salazar stayed there. The Master might be a monster, and one of the worst teachers Salazar had ever had, which in itself was saying a lot, but his library was one of the best on the continent. Salazar had learned more about Runes and Warding in the past few months than he had in years, and that had only been the start. There were books on duelling, magical creatures, mythologies... They had become Salazar's only refuge from the Master's constant venom, and it wasn't unusual for him to spend hours hidden away in the shelves.

On this occasion, however, things were fated to go a little differently.

Salazar had only been reading a few minutes when a surge of nausea made him pause.

"What?"

Another twist of his stomach made him set the book aside. For a moment he wondered if it was another trick of the Master's; it would hardly be the first time, but this was like no spell he had ever encountered. He was on the verge of running a diagnostic to check for poisons when his thoughts were interrupted by a sudden explosion.

Salazar was on his feet immediately, his wand in his hand. This was no test. The walls shook as another explosion rang out, and at the same time, Salazar felt another rush of nausea. Now he understood. Someone was systematically destroying the wards protecting the tower.

Technically, Salazar wasn't supposed to know of the existence of those wards, let alone have linked himself into them, but the temptation had been too much to resist. The Master did not know, and never would, that Salazar knew just as much about the state of their defences at any one time as he did. He knew their strengths, and their weaknesses, every single one of them.

And now he knew that they were being utterly decimated.

There was no subtlety to it. The intruder's plan seemed to be to continue casting the most powerful spells they could until the defences fell. Salazar could have unravelled them in half the time with a fraction of the effort. Still, there was no denying that it was working; it would be a matter of minutes, at most, before the remainder of the wards collapsed. Salazar rolled his eyes. For the work of a supposed master, they were falling remarkably quickly. Surely a simple inversion at each ley line would have been enough increase their strength, and from there...

Salazar shook himself sharply; this was no time to be pondering the mechanics of Warding. He gritted his teeth as the penultimate ward fell. Whoever they were, they were close now, Very close. Salazar considered. He should probably go and offer the Master his assistance. It would be the proper, obedient thing to do.

Except his wand arm still ached from the morning's hex, and he was so tired that he would be lucky if he was even able to hit his target. His eyes gleamed as he reached for his book again. It would not have taken much to guarantee his help. It had taken even less to forfeit it.

A few minutes later, the last of the wards fell, and Salazar again paused in his reading. Sure enough, he soon heard shouts, and the crackle of spells being thrown. Salazar sighed and set the book back on the shelf. He honestly did not care who won, but either way there would be problems. The Master would become even more unbearable, but he could manage that. Should the intruder prove triumphant, however... Salazar closed his eyes. The attacker was sure to know of his existence, he was well known in the town from all the errands he had run. And no one competent enough to kill a master would be foolish enough to leave the apprentice unscathed.

He should run. Take advantage of the chaos to gather his meagre possessions and get away. It would not be difficult to find another master, he had managed to do so often enough before.

But something inside of him rebelled at the thought. Too often in the past he had run away. Anger suddenly blazed up in him, anger at the Master, at the intruder, at the monsters who had started this nightmare. And especially at himself for being too weak to stop it. Salazar grabbed his staff and forced himself to his feet. This time, at the very least, he would face the man who was changing his life.

It was not difficult to find them; all he had to do was follow the explosions. And the swearing. They led him to the room that served as the Master's testing area for new spells. Salazar took a moment to appreciate the intruder's common sense; the room was large enough to provide a decent space to fight, but there were plenty of materials that could be used to a clever duellist's advantage. Salazar slipped up a flight of stairs, being careful to keep his staff from rapping on the stone, until he emerged onto the gallery that ran around the room. He looked down. There was the Master, his lips drawn back in a snarl as he fought, but Salazar barely noticed him. He was far more interested in his opponent.

He was younger than Salazar had expected. Much younger in fact; he couldn't have been more than eighteen, yet he bore himself with the assurance of a grown man. And, Salazar noted, he had the skill to back it up. The Master was no fool when it came to duelling, but this man handled his attacks as if they were barely worth his notice. Salazar had never seen anything like it; he didn't even seem to be trying hard, yet he blocked every curse without fail, and responded with a ferocity that was dizzying to see, an extraordinary feat, considering he had already expended a considerable amount of magic destroying the wards. With his flaming red hair, and constant casting, he was like a burning brand in a field of dry grass.

There was only one possible outcome. Salazar knew it, the man certainly knew it. Even the Master knew. He redoubled his struggles, but all his efforts were in vain. A barrage of curses came, and although he cast the strongest shield Salazar had ever seen, a single curse slipped through. One curse.

And the Master fell.

Salazar couldn't bring himself feel remorse. His burns from the earlier hexes still stung too much for that. He actually had to fight the urge to applaud as the body toppled backwards. But the matter was not over yet. He suppressed a sigh, and raised his wand. By rights he should already be running, but the recklessness that had driven him to seek his opponent out would not allow him to withdraw. Better to take the man off guard now than be hunted down like a rat. And, if the worst came to pass, at least this man would kill quickly.

And that wouldn't be such a bad thing.

\---

Godric was just beginning to relax his guard when a sudden instinct made him spin to the side. As usual his reflexes were right; a red light shot by him, missing him by mere inches. Godric cursed for a fool. How could he have forgotten the apprentice?

He was wearied from the earlier fight, but not so much as to be at a serious disadvantage. Not when his opponent was a crippled boy several year his junior. Still, that was no excuse for carelessness. Who knew what this boy was capable of?

His alertness paid off as another spell shot past. Godric clenched his teeth. Yes, this boy was definitely more than he had expected. Not only was the spell one he had seen masters use, it had come from the opposite direction as the first. Either there were two of them, which was unlikely, or this apprentice had more skill at Apparating than most wizards twice his age. And if that was the case, it raised the question of why he simply didn't just flee.

Godric allowed his lips to twitch into a smile. An apprentice who didn't run, who dared to fight rather than hide, and who actually had a strategy. This was something new.

He intelligent too. The room was large, and scattered with debris from the previous battle, affording plenty of cover for a cunning opponent. Not only did the spells come from different directions each time, they also came at irregular intervals, and varied considerably in substance. One moment he would deflect a regular Stunner, the next he would have to duck a Dark curse that would have torn through a regular Shield Charm like a knife through butter. Despite himself, Godric felt his respect for his opponent increasing. Few grown men could fight like this. For a child to do so was remarkable indeed.

But the fact remained that he was still a child. Godric continued to block and dodge the curses, and soon found his patience rewarded. A less experienced duellist would not have noticed anything, but Godric could feel the rhythm of the duel change. The intervals between spells, once deliberately irregular, now became longer, and the spells began to lack their earlier vigour. Godric tightened his grip on his wand. Time to act.

He had not been fighting defensively simply because he wanted the exercise. He had waited and watched, taking stock of every attack, until he saw not the spells, but the complete pattern of the battle. It was a skill he was never able to explain, but everything suddenly fell into place, in that moment he simply acted. He ducked another hex, then in the same fluid movement spun and cast one of his own.

Godric never missed. There was a muffled grunt, and Godric opened his eyes to see a boy sprawled on the floor. Godric smiled at him.

"Not bad. Not bad at all."

The boy ignored him in favour of climbing to his feet. Godric regarded him curiously. The description the man had given the previous evening had certainly been accurate; the boy was thin and pale, and so small that he would barely come up to Godric's chest. His robes were patched in numerous places, and his thick, black hair fell unchecked about his face. But what caught Godric's attention were the dark rings under his eyes, and the crooked staff that the boy clung to as if to a lifeline. Godric frowned. His acquaintance hadn't been exaggerating; the boy really did look awful.

Which made his performance all the more remarkable.

"Have you had enough?" Even from here, he could see the child was trembling. Whether from fear or pain was difficult to see, though Godric rather suspected the latter.

"Getting tired?" was the immediate reply, and Godric was unable to prevent his lips twitching.

"Afraid not."

The boy answered with another curse. Godric blocked it without batting an eyelid, impressed despite himself. He was amazed the boy could stand, let alone cast. He was surprised, however, to see the boy still standing in the same spot.

"Looks to me like you're the one who is getting tired."

Silver eyes blazed at him. "Are you going to fight, or just stand there?"

Godric shrugged and raised his wand. "I've no preference, but if you're so eager to fight, then let's fight."

The ensuing duel, was short, but vicious. There was no doubt that the boy was exhausted, but he clearly had no intention of giving up. Godric avoided any lethal spells, he had no desire to kill this particular opponent just yet, but neither did he have any intention of losing.

"I don't want to hurt you," he called. "Just drop your wand."

"No, thank you."

Godric set his lips. He knew he could continue for as long as necessary, but the boy couldn't. If this didn't end soon, he would drive himself to exhaustion. Godric found himself strangely reluctant to allow that to happen. It was time to end this.

He had long since took note of the boy's principal weakness, and now he took advantage of it. A series of spells in quick succession forced the boy to take a step back, but that was just the start. So preoccupied was he, that he missed the Trip Jinx that sent him crashing to the floor. Godric felt a twinge of guilt at the pure agony that blossomed on his face, but he didn't waste the opportunity. One Disarming Spell was all that was necessary to finish it.

Godric twirled the wand casually between his fingers as he crossed the room. "Are you all right?"

"What is it to you?" Despite the bravado, his voice was hoarse with discomfort, and Godric felt his own unease intensify.

"I did tell you to give up."

The boy raised an eyebrow. "Would you have?"

"No," Godric admitted. "But I'm not the one who lost."

The boy's expression darkened, and he looked away. Godric grimaced; that had not been the best thing to say.

In fact, Godric was beginning to have serious doubts as to his management of this entire situation. First he had started to respect his opponent, now he was actually pitying him. He was supposed to kill Dark wizards, not feel guilty for hurting them. Then he had nearly apologised for insulting him for crying out loud. He certainly couldn't kill the boy now.

"So what am I supposed to do with you?" He hadn't meant to speak out loud, but the words were already said. The boy glared at him as he pulled himself unsteadily to his feet.

"You could just let me go?"

"And what would you do if I did?" Godric asked. He frowned to himself. Why did it matter? He shook the thought away.

"I will manage."

"How? You are only, what, ten? You cannot work."

Silver eyes flashed. "I am thirteen."

Godric blinked. "Really?" The boy was so small that Godric had thought ten to be pushing it. But the irritation in his eyes seemed completely genuine.

"I think I know how old I am."

"Either way, you cannot work," said Godric, returning to his original point. "And unless you are planning to steal..." His eyes narrowed as the boy's face went blank. "I see."

"What does it matter to you?" the boy demanded. "You're not my keeper. Just kill me and be done with it."

Godric drew back, stung by the words. "I'm not going to kill you."

"Why not? You killed him."

"He was a threat."

"And you think I'm not?"

"In all honesty, no," said Godric flatly.

The boy's eyes narrowed. "You're not very bright, are you?"

Godric stared at him. "You – what?"

"And now you're just proving my point."

Godric's mouth opened, and then closed. This boy, a crippled, exhausted child, was standing there and daring to insult him. The flicker of respect was beginning to grow into something much larger.

"Most people would think it was a bad idea to insult someone so much stronger than you," he said quietly.

The boy shrugged remarkably carelessly. "You've already said that you're not going to kill me. And I doubt you could do anything worse than he did on a regular basis."

It wasn't the words that caused Godric's stomach to lurch, he knew better than most what Dark Arts practitioners were capable of, but the completely matter of fact tone in which they were spoken. How could anyone endure that? How had this child endured that?

And why would he choose to?

"What's your name?" he asked quietly.

The boy blinked. "Why do you want to know?"

Godric sighed. "I'm Godric."

"The Griffin d'Or. I know."

"You do?"

A shrug. "There have been rumours for some time about a redheaded man. You're getting quite the reputation."

Godric felt a brief flicker of satisfaction, before forcing his mind back to the situation. "You still need to tell me yours. Fair trade and all that."

There was a long silence then the boy's shoulders slumped ever so slightly. "Salazar."

Godric nodded. "Pleasure to meet you."

Salazar raised an eyebrow. "I'm not sure if I can say the same."

It was all Godric could do to keep his lips from twitching. Despite his best efforts, he was actually starting to like this boy.

"So, what are you going to do now?"

Salazar glanced down. "I will manage."

"Does that mean you'll find another master?" Salazar's gaze flickered away just for a moment, but that was all it took. "Why?"

"That is none of your concern."

Godric ran a hand through his hair. "I simply don't understand." Salazar tilted his head to one side, but Godric didn't give him a chance to interrupt. "You're good. Brilliant even. You duel better than most masters I've met, and you probably know wards and enchantments that I've never heard of."

"Should I be flattered?"

Godric continued without batting an eyelid. "So you're good now. And you've got the potential to be one of the best. So what I want to know is why you're wasting your time on things like this."

He was expecting an immediate retort with a number of logical reasons and a healthy amount of sarcasm. He was not expecting to see Salazar's indifferent expression falter. And, for a moment, he looked just like the child he was.

But only for a moment. Then the shields slammed back up, and Salazar smirked at him.

"There are reasons for everything. And it isn't such a bad life."

"Apart from the killing, and the torture, and being tortured," said Godric dryly, and his satisfaction rose when Salazar's lips twisted. "And do you really want to be feared like them?"

Salazar's reply was so low that Godric had to strain to hear it. "It's better than the alternative."

For the first time in a long time, Godric found himself caught in a moral dilemma. The logical thing to do would be to leave. Get out, move on to the next set of rumours. Leave the boy to fend for himself.

Except that that wasn't logical. If he left, he had little doubt that Salazar would simply find another master. Another master who would beat him, and degrade him, until any light had turned to bitterness and pain. And when that happened, Godric might find him again. But he wouldn't find a boy. He would find a master of the Dark Arts with nothing human left in him.

And that thought scared Godric more than any of the battles he had faced.

He couldn't let that happen. He couldn't leave him alone. He might be able to find someone to take him in, his reputation would help with that, but would Salazar stay there? Somehow, Godric very much doubted it.

Of course, there was an alternative. It would be risky, even foolhardy. Godric could very well imagine what Rowena would have to say about it.

Good thing he didn't always listen to Rowena.

"Come with me."

Salazar blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Come with me," Godric repeated.

"And why would I want to do that?"

Godric shrugged. "You want a master. I've never had an apprentice, but I can't imagine it would be too hard."

Salazar's eyes narrowed. "And what would you teach me?"

Godric felt an irrational surge of delight that he hadn't dismissed the suggestion out of hand. "I can teach you how to duel. You're good now; a year or two and I'll make you unstoppable."

Salazar nodded slowly. "I have no doubt of that. But why?"

"I'm sorry?"

"I've known you for less than an hour. Most of that was spent fighting you, or watching you kill my teacher. Why would you choose to help me?"

This one certainly wasn't a fool. Godric shrugged. "Better than that than you go out learning other skills," he said bluntly.

He was pleased to see Salazar's eyes widen. "I see."

Godric continued softly, his eyes locked on Salazar's silver ones. "I can teach you to fight well enough to defend yourself against any opponent you might face, and I can do so without beating you half to death." His voice hardened. "But there will be no Dark Arts. That is my only condition."

"And what if I choose to leave?" asked Salazar softly. "You'll kill me to stop me? Torture me?"

Godric was just about to snort and make a sarcastic retort, when he caught sight of Salazar's face. Beneath the light tone, there was genuine wariness in his eyes, and his knuckles were white as they gripped his staff. Godric bent slightly to meet his gaze.

"I would never do that," he said quietly. "I promise."

Salazar's silver eyes searched his face, clearly seeking for the lie. The wonder that touched his face when he didn't find one cemented Godric's belief that he was making the right choice.

"Come on," he said softly. "You look like you could use a good meal."

Salazar still hesitated. Godric reflected that it was much like trying to calm a frightened cat.

"And a bed for the night. Without curses in the morning."

"Very funny," Salazar mumbled.

His chest ached, and it was an effort to smile. "I was being serious." It was impossible to miss the longing in the boy's eyes now. "One night. That's all I'm asking."

Finally, Salazar sighed. "One night then."

This time, the smile came without any effort whatsoever. "Excellent. Is there anything you need?"

"A couple of things. Some books. Mementoes."

"Let's go then."

Salazar raised an eyebrow. "Don't you trust me not to run away?"

Godric smiled. "Not before dinner."

After dinner though... Well, then then the real test would come. But first...

"Here."

Salazar stared at him, then at the proffered wand, and back again. "Are you serious?"

Godric shrugged. "We've already established that you're staying for the night."

"Aren't you afraid that I'll attack you?"

"You might," Godric agreed. "But we've also established that I'm stronger than you." Not that Salazar was in any fit state to be duelling. From the twist of lips, Salazar was very well aware of that fact himself. Slowly, he reached out his hand for it.

"Thank you."

"You are welcome."

Salazar's expression was, if possible, even more guarded than before, but Godric pretended to ignore it. It was time to find out whether or not this could actually work.

\---

Salazar waited until the sounds of deep even breathing filled the air. Then he waited a bit longer. His leg throbbed painfully, but he ignored the discomfort with the ease of long practice. Only when he was absolutely positive that Godric was asleep, did he open his eyes. Silently, he got out of bed and padded to the window.

The night was pitch black, the moon hidden behind a thick wall of cloud. Salazar scanned the skies in search of the familiar constellations, but there were none to be seen. Just darkness. Salazar closed his eyes. The silence of the night was broken only by the sound of Godric's heavy breathing, and that was filtered out easily enough. It was time to make a decision.

It should be easy. This man had killed his master. He hunted Dark wizards because he wanted to, and quite clearly knew what he was doing. He didn't feel any particular stirrings of vengeance, the master had more than deserved his fate. If anything, Salazar felt slightly disappointed that it hadn't lasted longer. In any case, he certainly wasn't going to harm Godric because of it. The logical choice would be to run while he still could.

So why did he find himself feeling... reluctant?

Maybe it was Godric's strength. Someone that powerful could be a valuable ally. Or maybe it was the temptation of good food and a warm bed. It had been some time since Salazar had enjoyed such comforts.

Or maybe it was just the smiles that contained no condescension, no hint of mockery. It had been even longer since someone last smiled at him like that.

Salazar shook himself sharply. This was ridiculous. There were things to be done, plans to be completed, and Godric did not feature in any of them. He could not afford such weakness, not when he had come so far, and sacrificed so much. He would not let it all be in vain. He would not their deaths be in vain. Jaw set, Salazar turned his attention to his surroundings and extended his magical sense. No doubt there would be traps and alarms to be dealt with. But what he found made him stop short.

Salazar had been expecting complicated charms and enchantments, spells that would instantly alert Godric to his departure, and that would take hours of work to break. But there weren't any complicated spells.

There weren't any spells at all.

Salazar's heart was pounding so hard he was starting to feel faint. Godric knew what he was capable of, knew that he wanted to leave, and yet had done nothing. Why? It didn't make any sense. Was this some sort of elaborate trap? Some game Godric had made for his own amusement? Was he intending to let Salazar go, and see how far he could get? Yes, that would be it; Salazar would run, only to find Godric laughing at his attempts, at the pain the exertion had caused. He would take pleasure in it, and then he would drag him back here, and lock him away again, and then the real punishment would begin...

I would never do that.

He had promised. He had promised. Salazar took a deep breath, suddenly furious with himself. There was no doubt that Godric could be ruthless, but he wasn't cruel. Salazar was a good enough judge of character to know that. And he hadn't been lying. He wasn't Dark; he wouldn't act the way Salazar had become accustomed to.

But then why were there no spells?

Slowly, like a ray of sunshine breaking through storm clouds, the answer came, and the knowledge left Salazar dizzy.

Godric trusted him not to try.

It didn't make sense. Godric knew he had been studying the Dark Arts. He knew that he wasn't a good person. He knew that Salazar didn't want to be here. And yet he had given Salazar back his wand, and hadn't stayed up to guard him, and not set any spells to prevent his leaving...

Why did he trust him?

Salazar gripped his head in his hands, trying desperately to think. This was the chance he had been waiting for. He could get away. By the time Godric awoke, he would be long gone, and Salazar could never be found if he did not want to be. He could leave, find a new master, continue to study. He could return to his task, the task that had been his for the past five years.

A task that required he beg knowledge from those stronger than him. Endure all the twisted torments they could devise. Play to their every whim. A task that no longer looked so appealing.

A task he had never wanted in the first place.

It had been so long since anybody had trusted him.

Salazar let out a long sigh, and raised his face to the skies again. He had known Godric for no more than a matter of hours, yet he had changed everything. The man was a mystery, strong enough to defeat masters, yet as carefree as a child at times. Salazar found himself simultaneously wary, and intrigued by him. It appeared that he felt the same way.

What would it be like to stay?

Salazar couldn't quite believe he was even contemplating the idea. For all he knew, Godric could turn out to be as ruthless and cruel as any of his previous masters. Could he risk staying with someone with that much power, and a known hatred of everything Salazar had learned? It was madness to even consider it.

And yet... There was no denying that Godric could teach him a great deal. The ease with which he had dispatched Salazar's former master more than proved that. And it would be a nice change to not have to constantly watch for beatings and curses. And to learn magic that didn't have to cause harm.

Far above him, a single star broke through the clouds, and Salazar made his decision.

After all, he could always escape tomorrow.

Decision made, Salazar yawned and slipped back into bed. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, but for some reason, he found his heart lighter than it had been in a long time. As if something had finally been put right.

\---

Godric woke to the sun streaming through the window. For a moment he lay there, soaking in the delights of the opportunities and possibilities of a brand new day. Then the events of the previous day crashed through his mind. Heart pounding, he rolled over.

And a smile touched his lips.

"I'll be damned," he murmured.

The bed was occupied, and above the blankets he could just see a head of thick black hair.

A completely genuine smile spread across Godric's face. He had stayed. He had actually stayed.

No doubts remained. No matter what it took, Godric was going to make this work.

\---

A chance offered. A chance accepted. Two choices.

Nothing would ever be the same.


End file.
